Cold Sacrifice (14 page)

‘Are you coming?’

‘Just give me a minute.’

From the living room she could hear a buzz of voices. The boy would be asleep by the time they got home. If he had been Della’s son, she would have worried about leaving him in the flat by himself, but Candy insisted he was fine. When they got back she would be annoyed if she found him fast asleep on the sofa with the television blaring, but Della understood that the voices made him feel less lonely.

‘Turn that off soon and get to sleep,’ Candy called out as they left.

It was already dark outside. The cold was biting. They hurried along the main road and turned up a narrow side street that led behind the amusement arcades to the club. Della pulled up her collar. Her thin coat was shower proof but not very warm. There was no one else on the pavement, so they were able to talk. Glancing around, Della nudged Candy’s arm.

‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

‘What?’

Candy was facing away from her flatmate. Now she paused in her stride and turned to look at Della. Candy’s thick mascara was already a little smudged from the cold air making her eyes water.

‘You know, what I was telling you, about that man.’ Della looked around nervously. ‘The man on the telly. You mustn’t breathe a word to anyone.’

‘What about the other girls? Aren’t you going to tell them?’

‘No. No one must know about it, not until he’s been arrested. As far as he’s concerned, I don’t know who he is. If he finds out I know what he’s done, he might think I’ll go to the police and tell them the whole truth. So you mustn’t say anything. Promise me.’

Candy’s grin died away at the urgency in Della’s voice.

‘All right, all right. Don’t get in a state about it. I can’t see why you’re getting so worked up. He must realise you won’t go to the police, not when you can make so much money out of it.’ She grinned. ‘No one would be that stupid. And we’d be mad to tell anyone about it. It’s our secret. That money’s ours. It’s no one else’s business.’

Della nodded uncertainly. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that she was covering for a man who had killed his wife. It was all right for Candy. She wasn’t involved like Della was. And then there was the detective waiting for her to go to the police station and give a statement. If they ever found out she was lying she would probably be banged up for withholding information, perverting the course of justice, or whatever they called it. But if she went to the police, and Henry found out, it would be curtains for her. Either way she was fucked. As if that wasn’t enough, when she arrived at the club she was told the manager wanted to see her.

‘Why?’

‘He didn’t say.’

The room was warm. Stinking of sweat and perfume like the rest of the place, it was furnished with a small pine desk and a set of black leather chairs. The manager sat on a black leather swivel chair which he rotated slightly from side to side as he spoke. The movement made Della feel sick as she stared at his pale bloated face. Above his dark suit and black shirt, his head seemed to hover in the air. The fat bastard made it quite clear he didn’t give a toss about how Della was feeling, or that her life might be in danger. All he cared about was his own skin, which meant keeping the club out of trouble. His bald head gleamed under the central light bulb, and beads of sweat glowed on his upper lip as he spoke.

‘What’s this I hear about you getting in hot water?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Della mumbled. ‘Someone’s been spreading lies about me. It’s all bollocks.’

‘So why was a police officer here on Tuesday night, asking for you?’

‘I said, it’s nothing. It’s a mistake. He thought I was someone else.’

‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, you cocksucker. You think I was born yesterday? What’s going on?’

‘It was a mistake. He was asking me about some bloke I never met. It’s nothing to do with me. I told you, I never even met the guy he was looking for.’

She scowled at him across the desk.

‘Don’t you fucking talk to any pig again as long as you’re working here,’ he said.

‘I never asked to talk to him. You sent me to see him.’

Watching him fidget uncomfortably in his chair, she realised she had answered him back with a confidence she had never previously felt. For the first time, the reality of her situation struck her. Before long she would be telling Jimmy to stick his stingy wages up his fat arse.

‘Don’t bloody argue with me. Look,’ he leaned forward on his elbows, his voice softer. ‘I can’t have any of my girls consorting with villains. It gives the place a bad name.’

Della gave a snort of genuine amusement.

‘That’s a joke. Like I said, it was a mistake. It was nothing to do with me. I don’t even know the bloke they were looking for.’

‘You are not to tell the police anything, you are not to even talk to them while you’re here.’

‘I never told them nothing. It was a mistake,’ she insisted.

Jimmy rose clumsily to his feet.

‘If you want to hang onto your job, you’d better start behaving yourself,’ he warned her.

‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she assured him. ‘I’m just fine and dandy.’

He scowled before dismissing her with a wave of his podgy hand.

I
AN WAS GROWING IMPATIENT.
Twenty-four hours had passed since the television appeal, and so far it hadn’t come up with anything more than a few crank calls. To add to his frustration, three days had passed since he had questioned Della at the club but she still hadn’t shown up at the police station in Margate to give her statement. He couldn’t help feeling he should have put more pressure on her to give a formal statement when he had the chance. He was sure she had been lying. If Henry was innocent he would hardly have taken so much trouble to provide himself with an alibi. Yet he wasn’t convinced Henry was guilty. Something didn’t add up.

‘Perhaps he was scared,’ Polly suggested when Ian asked her what she thought.

‘Scared? How do you mean?’

‘He must realise he’s likely to be a suspect, seeing as he was married to the victim. So he’s scared. He hasn’t got an alibi. Maybe he thought he ought to sort one out, pay his way out of trouble.’

‘He could certainly afford to pay for it now,’ Ian agreed. ‘But a false alibi doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty.’

‘It doesn’t exactly suggest he’s innocent.’

‘No, but like you said, he’s probably feeling worried, whether he’s guilty or not.’

It was dark by the time Ian set off for Margate. He felt edgy. Polly had offered to accompany him, but the visit was more likely to be productive if he went alone. He had spoken to Della before, and it would be better to treat this as a routine follow-up visit. He played it through in his mind as he was speeding along the Thanet Way. Obviously Della wouldn’t be pleased at his returning to the club to talk to her again. He might even have difficulty getting to see her. Staff at the club would recognise him, and certainly wouldn’t welcome him back there. He was prepared to throw his weight around to gain access to her, and ready for her to be hostile towards him, and defensive about not having given her statement yet. It was likely to be a difficult visit.

The bulky doorman stepped forward and crossed his arms, peering at Ian from beneath Neanderthal brows.

‘What’s your game then?’

Ian brushed him aside. ‘If you want to know about police procedure, you need to change your job. Now are you going to step aside, or would you rather be arrested for obstruction?’

‘All right, guv, keep your hair on.’

Once again a hideously strong perfume hit him as soon as he stepped through the door. A different woman was on duty this time. Not recognising him, she opened a curtain and ushered him into the bar where a single pole dancer was gyrating on a podium. It was early but the auditorium was already quite packed. Ian had first been there on a Tuesday evening when a few men had given the place a sleazy atmosphere. On Friday the place had a different ambience, bustling and cheerful. People had gone there after work for a night out. At one table a stag party was making a racket, laughing and cheering on a lap dancer.

Ian followed the woman back out into the poorly lit foyer and explained the reason for his visit.

‘Who did you say you wanted to see?’

Ian repeated his request. She denied knowing anyone called Della. When Ian pressed her, she told him to wait while she fetched the manager. Ian waited. He was prepared to be patient. Through the curtain he heard chattering voices, braying laughter and the bass thumping of music. He wondered what Bev would say if she could see him standing in the grubby hall of a sordid strip club while she was sitting at home, also waiting.

At last the woman trotted back on her high heels and gestured for him to follow her along a narrow passageway. She led him through a door into a small office where a large man sat behind a wooden desk, picking his teeth with a blue cocktail stick.

‘So, Inspector,’ he greeted Ian with a surly smile.

Ian didn’t correct the fat man’s mistake. With luck it would soon be accurate to address him as Inspector.

‘I’m looking for Della.’

The other man picked his teeth thoughtfully for a second.

‘She’s not available right now,’ he said at last. ‘I can offer you another girl. Plenty more where she came from.’

‘Where is she?’

‘I told you, she’s not available. She’s working, earning her keep.’

‘I’d like to speak to her, please.’

‘She’s working. Tell you what,’ he went on, suddenly brisk. ‘I’m a busy man, Inspector. I’m sure you are too. Why don’t you go in and watch the show. Those girls are easy on the eye.’ He winked. ‘Then when they finish, you can question Della all night for all I care. But you can’t speak to her before the show’s over. Fair’s fair. You can wait your turn like the rest of us.’

The man’s suggestive manner needled Ian. Declining the offer to watch the pole dancing, he stood up and said he would return in an hour.

‘Make sure Della’s here when I get back.’

* * * * *

After the brash young detective had left the office, Jimmy sat drumming his thick fingers on the desk. He had done his best to get rid of the unwelcome visitor, but the pig clearly wasn’t going to give up easily. He poured himself a generous slug of Scotch, gulped it down, and called Alf who was on the door.

‘Has he gone?’

Alf wasn’t exactly intelligent, but he could be sharp enough when it mattered. He knew straight away who Jimmy was talking about. Hearing his bouncer grunt into the phone, Jimmy waited until he could talk. A few seconds passed before Alf came back on the line.

‘He’s gone, boss, but he said he’d be back.’

‘Right. Buzz me when he shows up again.’

‘Will do.’

Jimmy knew what to do. He opened his door and bawled out Yvonne’s name. She appeared at once, as though she had been waiting for a summons. Jimmy squinted at her as she stood in the doorway, wondering what the hell had happened to her. Once she had been a real looker, with a magnificent body. Now she was just a wrinkled face on top of a spray of twig-like limbs. He glanced regretfully down at his paunch. The years hadn’t improved him either. Yvonne with her drugs, himself with the drink, neither of them had weathered well.

‘What did he want?’ she demanded.

A pig sniffing around asking questions gave everyone the jitters. Not that they had anything to hide. The activities at the club were all perfectly legit, consenting adults having a good time. Nothing wrong with that. Still, it was bad for business if the word got out.

‘He’s gone,’ he said tersely.

‘Good riddance.’

She came into the room, closed the door and waited to hear what he wanted. Jimmy heaved a sigh that shook his large frame.

‘What happened to us, Sugar?’ he asked.

‘Oh give it a rest. You didn’t call me in here to listen to you going on about the old days. We were young. Things change. Get over it. Now, come on, for fuck’s sake. I’ve got work to do. This joint doesn’t run itself. What’s up?’

Responding to her brusque tone he sat up straight and downed the rest of the whisky in his glass, wiping his fat lips on the back of his hand.

‘He wanted to talk to Della.’ He leaned across the desk and wagged a finger at Yvonne. ‘He’s not a paying customer so she can see him somewhere else. When he comes back, I’ll tell him she’s not here. And she can bugger off and all. He’s not interested in us. It’s her he wants. He can have her. But not here. Tell her to sling her hook.’

‘Just for tonight, or do you want to get rid of her?’

‘What do you think?’

Hands on hips, frowning, she considered the options.

‘Get rid of her,’ she said at last. ‘Once a girl gets in trouble, there’s no knowing where it’ll end.’

I
N THE WEEK SINCE
Martha’s death, Henry had struggled to get by without dwelling on what had happened to her. Being given two weeks off work hadn’t helped. It would have been easier to cope if he had been allowed to keep to his normal routine. As it was, he passed his time sitting around at home with nothing to do. His employer called it compassionate leave, but he was a tricky bastard. Henry didn’t think compassion had much to do with it. Every morning he scanned the post in case there was a letter advising him that the company was reluctantly ‘letting him go’. He would be entitled to a redundancy package after working there for so long, but that was beside the point. He didn’t want to take early retirement. It would leave him with nothing to do. In the meantime he did his best to fill his days with chores. He wiped the kitchen worktops with a damp cloth, and scrubbed the hob which had become encrusted with dried food detritus. He found where Martha kept the dustpan and brush and swept the floor, cursing and resolving to pay a cleaner, if he could find one.

He had already been to the corner shop once for essential supplies, but decided not to return there. He didn’t want any more embarrassing encounters with neighbours. Martha had always gone to the supermarket armed with a list. She would make a huge fuss about it if she ever left it at home. On Friday evening, Henry sat down to make a shopping list of his own. It gave him something to do. He called up the stairs to Mark to ask if he wanted anything, but there was no answering shout from his son’s room. After waiting a moment, he trotted upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. When there was still no response, he turned the handle and pushed the door gingerly, afraid his son might fly into a rage with him for invading his privacy.